Swear Unto Me
by The Girl in the Red Jacket
Summary: Lovers before war. Slash. LA


_Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.  
  
Author's Note: I don't know where the hell this came from. It just did. I wasn't even that much a fan of the movie, there was too much plot and not enough development of said plot, but, anyway, if Arthur and Lancelot weren't buggering each other in it then I'm the queen of England. Hope you enjoy. Thanks, as always, to Mandi for beta'ing._

**Swear Unto Me**

Lancelot was not sleeping when near silent footsteps fell on the stone floor and echoed loudly in his ears. He did not move, scarcely breathed, until the shadowed figure was close enough to touch, then, lightning quick, he grabbed a strong wrist and pulled.  
  
His hunter and prey came willingly to him, bending with grace to his knees beside the low bed, their eyes locking and faces so close they could feel the breath of the other upon their cheeks. Lancelot inhaled sharply, catching the abnormal, unwelcome scent.  
  
"She came to you," he demanded, but it was not a question.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You have known her body."  
  
"Yes."  
  
He said no more. The silence stretched. Eyes still locked, neither yielding, neither had the need.  
  
But...there was a soft sigh. "I do not know her soul."  
  
"Why have you come here?" Lancelot questioned without malice, without emotion.  
  
"You know that answer."  
  
"Speak it to me," he commanded.  
  
Arthur leaned closer, so close their breaths mingled. "I would know your body again."  
  
"Was she so unsatisfactory?" Lancelot asked and this time could not keep jealousy from colouring his voice.  
  
"She was not you," Arthur replied, so close that Lancelot could not focus on his face but could feel the heat of his skin.  
  
There was hardly space to move forward and so it was nothing for their lips to meet. Nothing and everything, as their breath became one and the very foundations of their beings were shattered, decimated to be forged anew from moment to moment until they had to part, the heat and pain of it nearly unbearable.  
  
Arthur's fingers were touching Lancelot's face when they parted. Their foreheads touched and neither could focus fully, blindly finding each other in the closeness.  
  
"I know you," Arthur whispered.  
  
"I am yours," Lancelot answered him.  
  
They took and gave themselves then, merged until nothing else mattered but their pulses beating as one and the joining of their bodies. Limbs quivered and strained with pleasure and sorrow. Moans were swallowed by kisses brutal in their intensity. Bodies were marked by teeth and lips as they became engulfed by each other.  
  
They lay entwined together after, touches gentle, contrasting with the hardness of their bodies, still thrumming from and with their passions and desires. Arthur lifted his head and looked at his love who lay so willingly pinned beneath his strong body.  
  
Lancelot's sharp gaze met his and Arthur felt the smallest quiver in his strong body. "If you asked it of me..."  
  
Arthur shook his head and his lips found their mate but as soon as they parted his lover pressed on.  
  
"Ask it of me and I will stay by your side and if nothing else we shall die together and make the land holy with our spilt blood," Lancelot whispered fiercely. "Ask it of me and I will stay and die for you. Ask it of me."  
  
"Live for me," Arthur told him. "Live for me and follow your heart back to your homelands."  
  
Lancelot laughed. "Oh Arthur, I have not the heart to follow it for it has so long been in your keeping that I scarce remember what it was like to have it as my own."  
  
"Then follow mine, which lies in your keeping." Arthur's lips touched just under his ear, followed by the scrape of his teeth. Lancelot arched into his touch.  
  
"Nay," he whispered, catching Arthur's face in his hands and staring into his eyes, seeing, Arthur did not doubt, the very depths of his soul. "Nay, I have never had your heart as you have mine."  
  
"I love you, Lancelot," Arthur told him. "I do not say nor give that lightly."  
  
"I do know I have your love. I know I rest firmly within your heart but I do not own it," Lancelot tilted his head to kiss the underside of his lover's chin, feeling tender flesh quiver at his touch. "I know not what does. It is not I; some higher purpose than I cannot understand perhaps."  
  
"Is that why you rail so against my God?" Arthur asked and bit down on the soft skin just beside the throat hard enough to leave a mark. He thrilled at the way Lancelot threw his head back and moaned his pleasure, giving him better access to his throat.  
  
"I am the jealous type," Lancelot smiled, his eyes still closed, his fingers threading in Arthur's hair. "But your God and this cause shall take you from me and that is why I fight them."  
  
"You knew I would go to Rome when our freedom was bought," Arthur murmured, his teeth trailing over the skin of Lancelot's throat, reveling in the scent and taste and feel of his lover.  
  
"Yes, but given time I thought you would have sought me out," Lancelot told him.  
  
"And if I had not?" Arthur asked, slightly amused. Lancelot's fingers trailed over his face with a touch as soft as feathers.  
  
"I would have come to you," Lancelot whispered. "You own me. I, who will not yield, will not be put upon my knees, would willingly and thankfully become your slave if you wished it. You own me, Arthur."  
  
Lancelot moved upwards swiftly, catching Arthur's earlobe gently between his teeth, making him moan before releasing him, their faces pressed together so Arthur felt the whisper across his cheek. "Ask it of me."  
  
"No," Arthur replied. "I will not ask it of you."  
  
"Possess me," Lancelot told him, their bodies shifting without conscious thought so Arthur knelt between his legs which moved up and spread. "Please, Arthur, my love."  
  
"Yes. What is willingly given I will take gladly," Arthur managed before their bodies became one and they spoke no more.  
  
'What is willingly given...' Lancelot thought, the world darkening, the pain meaningless to him any longer. Arthur was not the one who held him but it did not matter, Arthur was here, Arthur was him because he had given himself to him long ago. His heart stayed, wherever his body was left, wherever they ended, his heart stayed.  
  
'Grieve not overmuch, my love,' Lancelot closed his eyes. 'I do not leave you.'


End file.
